An Old Toad and a Marlow
by W3ndyBird
Summary: There's nothing written in the Code of Camelot saying a woman can't be a knight. Rated M for later chapters.
1. Preface

Preface

There was a great storm about. Winds rage against the foundations of Camelot, threatening to bring it down with every gust. The rain seemed to hurl itself against the window pane like a catapult being shot into the oblivion. The people of the Lower Town closed their doors tight against the bracing wind and silently prayed their roofs would withstand the beating. There was no need for candle light tonight, for the paths were illuminated with lightning. The hand of God struck with a vengeance.

Merlin was restless. Storms often brought him a great sense of calm. But instead, he felt ill at ease. For the entirety of the day an electric current was building up inside him. Something was coming and it was not good.

Yet, he still went about his duties. Over the years, turning down the room in preparation for Arthur to sleep had become a mindless task – he could do it in his sleep (and he often did). This was the one time of day where is mind would go blank and all would be right in this world. There, in the comfort of Arthurs chambers, Merlin would allow himself to relish in his touch. Every look, every word would bring him warmth. But this was not the case tonight. Good or bad, Merlin _had_ to be ready.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Sir Gwaine of Camelot desperately needed a drink. The day was long and his feet were tired. His shoulders carried with them all of the tension that came from a day of resolving petty conflicts. Who knew hearing of the lives of the peasants could be so dull. He must have looked like his father. Or at least the version of him that he remembered.

He shook off the ghosts that plagued his mind. It was then that something caught his eye. A flash of lightning and – there, the window! Thunder rolled as he waiting for the next brilliant flash of light. Gwaine held his breath. And then he saw it, clear as day. On the glass of his window was berry colour handprint.

Curious, he walked closer to investigate. Holding up a candle, Gwaine released a breath he didn't know he was holding. Three handprints lay beside one another on the glass. Gwaine pressed his finger to the print and raised the resin to his nose. The smell was sweet and reminded him of his formative summers spent in the sun, rolling in the grass.

The message was clear. _I have come. It is time._


	2. Strange Beginnings

Chapter One: Strange Beginnings

Spring in Albion was a time for celebration as it came with the renewal of life. Rolling fields once barren and covered in frost, now began to show signs of growth and fertility. Midwives rushed around the city, bringing with them new life – ushering in the new generation of Camelot's citizens. To the people of Camelot, spring brought with it hope. Hope that those struck with a winter fever would recover. Hope that their bellies would soon be full once again.

Yet, there was a sense of worry that encapsulated the citizens of Camelot. Their beloved king was sick. For it was the vanishing of his ward, Morgana, that made him so. The people mourned this, knowing he was dying. There was no hiding it and there was nothing to be done. It would seem every week there would be new gossip on the location of the Lady Morgana. Some even believed she left on her own accord.

But the stranger entering the city gates knew nothing of court gossip, or cared for it either. There was a tournament to be won and defeat was not an option. Becoming a knight of Camelot was a matter of necessity and survival. And besides, there is nothing written within the Code of Camelot saying that a woman could not be a knight.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Welcome campions," Prince Arthur's voice echoed through the crowd. After the events of the past months, his people _needed_ this. He also did, even if he wasn't willing to admit to it. "The rules are simple, each of you will face off against one of my finest knights. Should you win," each of the knights of round table laughed, "you will be knighted."

Boys had gathered from across all of Albion. The chance to become a knight, a man of honour and chivalry, was a dream come true. To the Prince and his knights, it was a chance to begin training again after a long winter. However, a good laugh was always the main priority.

There they were, lined up facing the Prince. All trying their best to maintain their composure (and wits). Many were shaking visibly, dressed in nothing but scraps of cloth stitched together. Some, the children of nobility, were dressed in the most outlandish armor. In Arthur's experience, these were often the first boys to be eliminated from the tournament. They had nothing to lose.

One by one, the boys drew the name of the knight they were supposed to fight from a hat carried by Merlin. Sir Gwaine waited anxiously for his name to be called. His body was tense and his mind on edge. He only agreed to this idiotic tournament because Merlin had begged him. And who was Gwiane to deny such a pretty face. His princess.

It wasn't until the very last boy, that Gwaine's name was pulled. He stood out from the others. Everyone in the crowd could see that. He was _tall,_ almost surpassing himself. Gwaine noted the angry looking scar that trailed from his temple and ended somewhere along his jawline. It looked as if this child was a barbarian, about to emit a monstrous war cry. His armor most certainly looked like it; it was made out of tough leather, not bronze, or silver. Only a breastplate and lower vambrace* served as protection. He laughed silently to himself and thought, _he's going to be torn to ribbons._

The crowd erupted in a rowdy applause when Arthur shouted, "let the tournament begin!"

Maybe Merlin was right - this _was_ going to be fun.

*A lower vambrace protects from the elbow to wrist and was typically made out of a metal alloy.

 **A/N- Thank you for reading! Please review and let me know your thoughts on what's going to happen or even some suggestions to improve – everything helps!**


	3. A Lesson in Humility

Chapter Two: A Lesson in Humility

Marlow, firstborn of Lord Velourian wandered around the tournament grounds aimlessly. Everywhere she went, Marlow could hear the laughter of the people. She could not tell if they were laughing at the pitiful fights going on in the arena, or her.

She was not beautiful. This fact was made very clear to her early on in life. Unlike all the girls in her village, Marlow preferred her hair cropped just above her jawline and she shuttered at the thought of wearing gowns daily. She never played with dolls growing up. Nor did she ever announced her ambition to run off with the fairies. Or worse off - _a man._

No, Marlow spent her childhood sparring with her younger brother and learning the art of swordplay. In the quiet of the night, she would practice her magic. Though it was not forbidden in Caerloens' Kingdom, the people feared it – feared her. And so it came to pass that her childhood was taken from her. Soft, pale skin was replaced by scarred tissue and any childhood flight of fancy was destroyed. She had survived. Marlow would take that over beauty any day.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

"Where's the target?" one of the champions asked a serving boy. The servant looked like he was still a child; underfeed and wearing breeches that were too short for his scrawny legs. The champion, on the other hand, was too handsome for his own good. And he knew it too. Marlow mentally cursed all noblemen and their self-entitlement.

"There sir?" the poor serving boy was shaking under the weight of all the weapons he was carrying.

"It's into the sun," Marlow rolled her eyes, joining the crowd of girls admiring the champion.

"It's not that bright."

"A bit like you then."

The boy then proceeded to pick up a shield that was larger than himself. But before he could secure it in place at the edge of the clearing, the champion began throwing knives into it. Marlow could see the boy was terrified. The crowd of adoring girls laughed as the boy ran back and forth like a chicken running from the chopping block. Within a matter of minutes, the boy tripped and the shield rolled towards Marlow.

Stopping the shield with her foot, Marlow gave a quick smile to the boy, "that's enough. You've had your fun, my friend, leaving the boy alone."

The laughter ceased.

" _What?_ " the champion stormed towards Marlow, stopping only after realizing that Marlow was a head taller than him.

"You heard what I said. Didn't your father ever teach you not to play with things that couldn't fight back?" The ladies gawked at Marlow; some in amazement, some in horror.

Crossing the remanding space between them, the noble grabbed Marlow's shirt front and pulled her down to meet his eye, "how dare you insult me! I could have you arrested." Clearly, this noble was never taught a lesson in humility.

"My mistake, _my lord_ , I would never be friends with such a prat," the two so close, their noses were nearly touching.

"That's enough!" a voice boomed from behind them. They were pulled apart by two guards as the king stepped between them. The number of spectators instantly grew with the presence of Uther Pendragon. "You," Uther turned to the noble prat, "what is your name?"

"Cedric, third son of Lord Fletcher," Cedric's chest puffed out and his jaw jutted forward, emphasizing his gallant blood.

Uther then turned to Marlow and asked the same question. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her brother watching the spectacle from a distance.

"My name is Marlow, eldest of House Velourian," everyone, including the king himself, gave an audible gasp in surprise.

Uther chuckled, "it shall be a pleasure than to watch you in the tournament." All eyes were on her. This was exactly the type of attention she was looking to avoid.

For the first time since arriving in Camelot, Marlow drew a shaky breath and murmured, "I look forward to it, Your Highness."


	4. Together We Rise

Chapter Three: Together We Rise

Everyone in Albion knew the story – nay, the tragedy that befell the House Velourian. The fable was used to teach children about the dangers of the barbarians and to scare them into staying in their beds at night. The story went as thus;

Lord Velourian was the greatest swordsmen ever known and single handily redefined the rules of chivalry that all knights in Albion now follow. His wife was so pure of heart that God himself blessed her with twin boys; one born of magic and the other of strength. News of the miraculous birth spread across the land and sea. It was said that when the eldest took his first breath, the heavens emitted a mighty lightning strike.

The boys grew and thrived. They mastered the art of swordplay before reaching manhood. All was well in the noble house.

Then, tragedy struck.

Lord Velourian was killed in battle. Upon hearing the news, the youngest fled, never to be seen again. The very next day, the eldest was kidnapped by a group of raiding barbarians and taken as their prisoner to the far north. Lady Velourian's heart could not bear life without her family. It was some months later that she finally succumbed to her sadness and died in the night.

It was with a renewed speed and enthusiasm that this "story" traveled across the tournament. Gwaine chuckled to himself at the pure inaccuracies of it. His tale of woe painted a joyous picture of his childhood, where he and his eldest sibling wanted for nothing. Gwaine knew this to be false. His childhood, he reflected, was anything but luxurious. And it was all her fault, that old toad.

Without realizing it, Gwaine had been staring down at his empty goblet, seemingly lost in thought for a number of hours. His mind has been controlling him for the past three days. For ten long years, he had maintained his composure and silenced any memories that had wished to surface. Even his lover and dearest friend, Percival, had begun to notice. When they lay in bed together at night, legs tangled together and bodies pressed so closely together, Gwaine could not find peace. Not even within the sweet smile of his princes, Merlin.

"You alright, Gwaine?" his princess asked from the entrance of his tent. His cheeks (and obnoxiously large ears) were pink with arousal. But it was not his doing, and he understood that very well. For Merlin's heart belonged to Arthur.

Gwaine looked up for the first time since assuming his pitiful position, "better now that you're here!"

The heat in Merlin's face intensified. Gwaine took pleasure in that.

"Your match is starting any minute. I just came to make sure you were ready."

Sir Gwaine rose and with a wink, he regained his confident composure, "I always am."

By the time Merlin had taken his place beside the crowned Prince, the king was also taking his seat amongst them. Uther Pendragon was a proud man and he led his people as such. But Merlin could see the toll of the loss of his beloved ward, Morgana had taken upon him. He suspected the king had not slept for many days, despite being confined to his bed (Gaius' special orders). The shadows beneath Uther's eyes were prominent, his cheeks were hallowing.

Yet, despite his current state of physicality, Uther Pendragon carried onwards. He would not dare to think of missing a tournament, even if it was just a joke.

The long-haired knight, whose name Uther could not bear to remember, and "Marlow" entered the arena. He had a sneaking suspicion that all was not as it seems with the sudden re-appearance of the heir to House Velourian. After all, one does not simply return from barbarian territory _alive._

As the champions announced their names, the entire crowd leaned forward in anticipation. The two fighters bowed their head at one another as a sign of respect and with the clash of metal, the battle commenced. There was no laughter to be had this round. Within a matter of seconds, it was made obvious that this fight was anything but hilarious.

The champions fought seamlessly together – each stepped matched as if they were partners in an elegant dance. Both wear little in the ways of armor and no helmet was to be seen. In the mists of the fighting, Arthur could scarcely tell the two apart. This intrigued him. So much so that he halted all efforts in teasing Merlin (and Merlin's member) to the point of climax just to simply watch.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Sir Gwaine and Marlow Velourian were perfectly matched. Every advancement that one would make, the other would perfectly counterpart it. Every lunge, every parry, all in perfect harmony. Marlow could have sworn that Gwaine began to laugh under his breath out of amusement.

Switching tactics, Marlow lunged under Gwaines arm, pulling it back so he was forced to drop his weapon. She leaned into him and whispered, "you still fight like a runt… little brother."

Gwaine managed to free himself and dove to pick up his sword that had been abandoned. He could feel his stomach twist in familiar knots. No one had called him _that_ since…

Their swords were now locked together, Gwaine took the opportunity to look his sister in the eye for the first time in ten years. She still looked the same. Just like his mother – just like him. Neither could hear the noise of the crowd surrounding them.

"And you, my dear sister, still look like an old toad."


	5. Mark Your Territory

Chapter Four: Mark Your Territory

Marlow had won the fight fair and square. Everyone in that arena had witnessed her triumph. They had witnessed her downfall as well. Uther quickly had Marlow arrested and thrown into the dungeons for masquerading as a noble. She didn't even have time to properly greet her younger sibling before she was violently flung into a cell. Ten years. For ten long years, she had waited. And now it was all to be ruined because of suspicious king and hatred of anything outside the set norm.

Marlow had no papers, no identification, no royal seal – nothing to assure the king that she was whom she claimed to be. Gwaine, her only surviving family, would never admit to coming from a noble family. Especially one that Uther holds in the highest regard. She'd probably be flogged or at worse, banished from Camelot. The former she could easily handle for she had been whipped many times but the latter would promptly end the plan she had been working on for the past ten years.

She had taken off her armor as it was beginning to rub painfully against some new wounds that had not yet fully healed. The dank cold of the dungeon did nothing to bring her comfort either.

Taking the family crest from around her neck, Marlow began turning the dragons scale fingers, examining the fine detail that her father had once carved. There was two originally made for the two of them. In her childhood home, there was two of everything. Their mother had carefully made sure that their possessions were divided based on colour as to avoid any fighting. Gwaine was always a dark blue. Marlow was forest green. The colour reminded her of a lush tree canopy in the midsummer, shortly after it had rained.

"I remember the day father had given us that," said a voice from the door of the cell. Marlow didn't need to look up to know who it was.

"It was our fiftieth birth celebration. Mother made us swear that we wouldn't try to kill each other that day," Marlow answered, smiling half-heartedly at her brother. "You look just like him, you know."

"And you look just like _him,_ " Gwaine had practically spat his name, but couldn't bear the weight that it held.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

After some time, Marlow was forcefully removed from her cell and brought to face the king and his son. They both wore a stony expression when they looked at Marlow. All the knights were there as well dressed in their armor. They even had on those ridiculous red capes with the golden Pendragon crest on the left arm.

Marlow willed herself to stay upright when the guards pushed her at the feet of the King. Her energy reserves had been used up the night previous trying to heal her injuries. No matter how far away, he would always have a hold over her. The fresh scars on her arms proved that.

"You stand accused of impersonating the eldest son of the noble House of Velourian. How do you plead?" Uther's voice was strong and steady, despite his wavering appearance.

"Not guilty, your highness, I am who I say I am," Marlow glared directly at the king, meeting his gaze.

"Impossible!" Uther spat, "the children of Lord Velourian have been killed."

"You are mistaken, my lord."

"No one escapes the barbarians. And even if they did, they would be hunted down before reaching this far south," the prince finally spoke. Arthur was more than willing to knight the bastard, imposter or not. In his eyes, the prisoner had shown his worthiness on the battlefield by besting one of his knights. He was only here out of formality and was frankly rather be bedding his servant instead.

"I can prove it, sire." Before Uther or Arthur had the time to question Marlow, she had shed her green tunic to reveal a mangled body covered in scars. A courtier behind her had fainted at the sight of her. Marlow couldn't blame her. She was ugly. Monstrous even.

Where the swell of her breast should have been, there were two jagged scars where her former master had removed her nipples and all underlying tissue. It was that day that she was a woman no longer. While one could easily see the curve of her childbearing hips, the edges a violent pink scar could be seen at the tops of her breeches. Arthur could only infer what horrors laid under the cover of the remaining clothes that she was wearing. Marlow tuned in a full circle so that the Royals could see the lap of lash marks across her map and the resulting corrupted skin.

None of this phased Uther, for he had seen these marks on hundreds of men over his lifetime. It was the marking over the child's heart that carried the most impact. Though it was a character from a language he could not recognize, he knew the symbol well. It was the mark of Ragnar Lodbrok, a man more beast than human. The symbol was jet black and marked the prisoner the personal property of Lodbrok. His eyes widened in sympathy. Uther had heard many stories over the years of the horror that await Lodbrok's prisoners.

It only then did Marlow dare to speak, "I served my time. For ten years, I did his bidding. Ten years," tears were now freely falling down her face, not caring who saw her crying, "But I survived and I came to Camelot to do the only thing I know – to fight and to honour my family. That is all."

Marlow was knighted the very next day. In the months following, everyone in the royal household knew that Marlow was not a man, but no one dared spoke of it. Arthur grew to trust Marlow as he did his other knights. No one knew what was to come, but until that day came, all was well.

 **A/N - I don't know if I'm going to continue the story from her. So just in case I don't - thank you all for reading!**


	6. How Marlow Met Merlin

**A/N: This is a filler chapter, so feel free to skip it! I broke it up into two parts because it was getting way too long! As always, please let me know what you think in the comments!**

For the first time in the life, Arthur Pendragon was at a loss for words. Never had he seen such atrocities done the human body. While he and his fellow knights had a sizable number of scars that they had accumulated in battle, Arthur had never seen _so many_ on one person. When he closed his eyes, he could still see the thick ridges of mutilated tissue on the back of Marlow Velourian. The thought of her bare flesh was inconceivable in court. Camelot had certainly not witnessed a scandal like it, or ever will again.

Arthur admired her strength and bravery. There was no need to observe it on the battlefield, it was clearly written on her skin. The fact that she was a woman only served to impress him further. The Prince could not shake that there was something hauntingly familiar about her face. He had seen it before – he was sure of it!

Arthur was completely lost in thought and did not realize they had reached the dungeons already. Uther had tasked Arthur with escorting Marlow back to her cell to await his final decision. Arthur pitted the girl. Despite her circumstances, there was a set look of determination in her eyes that told him to think otherwise. The pair had not exchanged a single word during the walk from the Great Hall, but both were well aware of all the eyes watching them. Arthur hated this kind of attention.

"I'll send someone to dress your wounds and bring you food," Arthur was able to spit out as he ushered Marlow back into the cell. This time, however, she was not shackled to the wall. From the bruises on her wrists, Arthur could see Marlow had spent a great deal of time with her hands bound.

"Thank you, my lord," Marlow responded, "You are very kind." With a brief smile, Arthur turned and left Marlow alone with her thoughts.

Several minutes later (Marlow had stopped counting), the Princes' manservant was allowed entrance into Marlow's cell. He reminded Marlow of a Yearling, barely able to stand. He was all limbs and his eyes were wide with an emotion that she had yet to discern.

"My name is Merlin," the Yearling set down an oval bag in a pile of nearby hay, "I'm, uhm, here to dress the wounds on your back."

"A servant _and_ a physician. You have many talents, Merlin," Marlow laughed to herself.

 _You have no idea,_ Merlin thought. He responded, saying, "I could say the same for you. You fought better than many of the knights."

Marlow smiled in reply but made no further comment. Merlin was… amusing to say the least.

With her thin tunic shed, Marlow took stalk of the substantial bloodstain that occupied the back portion of her garment. She knew Lodbroks' frustration in her was growing for he expressed it through several new lashes of his whip. Flogging was his favourite punishment. It was simple, yet effective at getting a message across. However, Marlow had withstood so many of these "lessons," that she could scarcely feel them anymore.

Merlin positioned himself beside Marlow and begun cleaning the lesions. He could feel the pure heat radiating from Marlow. Where his fingers brushed over her skin, he felt a tingling sensation as if there was a shared current running towards them. Merlin was intrigued by the exchange.

"I saw what you did for that serving boy early today," Merlin broke the silence that had developed between them, "it was very brave of you."

"Lord Cedric had it coming. Even when we were children he was also insufferable. And now he is to be knighted, just like his father," Marlow's tone was light and sarcastic.

Merlin reached for a healing salve. But before he could begin to apply it, the lash marks began knitting themselves closed, as if by magic. Merlin was dumbfounded as he stared at the newly morphed skin. The resulting scar was an angry shade of red and only added to the atrocity that was Marlow. He could seldom imagine a smooth, creamy expanse of dermis on the girl. Merlin delicately touched the healed skin to assure himself that it was not a trick of the light. Sure enough, the young sorcerer could feel a definitive magical signature beneath his touch.

"You have magic," Merlin whispered in a hushed tone. He had removed his hands from the jar of salve and started moving away from Marlow. She was a _sorceress._

Marlow turned towards Merlin and met his gaze, her eyes pleading, "I only have enough to keep me alive. The rest was taken from me."

Merlin's confusion intensified. He looked towards the entrance of the cell to look for a guard. When he was satisfied that none were listening, he turned back towards Marlow and said, "It's against the law in Camelot. You could be killed."

Marlow did not seem shocked or scared by this. She simply reached for the clean tunic Merlin had brought for her and hastily replied, "without it I'm dead. If I return to my master, I'll be killed. This is my only option."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Merlin had yet to speak Marlow since the "incident." Whenever they met in the corridors of the castle, one the two turned and walked the other way with hast. Both had no idea what to say to the other. Try as they might, total ignorance of the other's existence was impossible. They met daily on the training grounds and in the kitchens before Merlin delivered Arthur's morning meal.

The men still did not trust Marlow. After all, she was an outsider and had a foreign combat style. None of the knights wanted to practice sparing with her. She felt like a child again. But when she looked to her brother for support, he simply looked the other way. Gwaine was too proud to admit is lineage and he would rather sacrifice himself to some estranged magical beast than speak the truth. Marlow began to wonder if the events of their childhood impacted her brother's behaviour.

Whatever the reason, Marlow felt deeply alone. She had spent the past ten years in near solitude, but nothing compares to being disregarded by a group of fully grown men who were supposedly the "bravest in the land." This irony amused Marlow. For the first time in her life, she longed for female companionship. She found it in a very pregnant Lady Guinevere, wife to Sir Lancelot, as all of the female courtiers fainted at the sight of her. Gwen herself had been confined to bed rest after months of illness, so Marlow often helped her with daily tasks. It was menial, but the company was a great comfort to Marlow and eased life in Camelot.

The two friends were spending the day embroidering flowers onto the baby's clothes (Gwen was sure it was a girl) when the labor pains started. When Lancelot was informed of the developments, he looked nauseous, to say the least. Having been through this experience three-times previous, Marlow remained at Gwen's side.

Hours later, Gwen's waters broke and the pains became unbearable. Lancelot was useless and wanted nothing more than to ease his wife's pain. Marlow was mentally timing the pains, knowing they were periodic and became closer together as things progressed. Lancelot and a growing crowd of concern fellow knights huddled around the door, waiting to congratulate their brother-in-arms. All the while, the elderly midwife was busing herself by setting out various pieces of intimidating equipment and examining the swell of Gwen's stomach. A concerning look had taken over her face.

"What is it? What's wrong?" The midwife looked to Marlow and begun to pack up her things, "will someone tell me what is happening!" Gwen pleaded. Tears were welling up in her eyes.

"Your baby is in the wrong position," the midwife answered curtly, "there is nothing to be done. No baby can be delivered feet first. May God have mercy on your soul."

Gwen began wailing and crying uncontrollably. Marlow went to her friends' side and began attempting to comfort her. Both women knew what was to be the outcome of the day – two bodies in one coffin. The midwife left to go inform the undertaker and to tell Lance to begin digging a grave for his beloved wife.

Suddenly and without warning, Marlow made a vague noise of enlightenment and sprinted out of the room, towards the Prince's chambers. Adrenaline was coursing through her veins and she was determined that Gwen should live. These thoughts compelled her to run faster

As she ran through the corridors, servants were reluctant to move out her path. Upon reaching Arthur's quarters, Marlow let herself into the room and was met by Merlin servicing his Prince.

"What is the meaning of this!" Arthur practically screamed at his knight. How dare she interrupt his fleeting moment of pleasure!

"It's… Gwen," Marlow was struggling to speak and catch her breath at the same time. Her words came out in short gasps, "Baby... breech…Merlin!"


	7. Pick It Up and Start Again

Chapter Six: Pick It Up and Start Again

 **A/N: This chapter was inspired by the songs "Medicine" by Daughter and "Rivers and Roads" by The Head and the Heart! It also contains descriptions of labour and birth – so feel free to skip to the end of this chapter if you're squeamish!**

Guinevere had never experienced such pain. Her body was on fire; it felt like her unborn child was attempting to tear itself from her womb. Her loving and adoring husband was unsuccessfully attempting to comfort her by rubbing her back and holding her close. But if Gwen knew one thing, it was that she did not want to be _touched._ With every wave of pain, she hated Lancelot for putting her through this. How dare he want her to carry his child. It was going to kill her and she was not ready to give up her life. Especially when it came after such agony.

"Gwen! I need you to listen to me – don't move, whatever the cost." The edges of Gwen's vision were blurry, but she knew the stead and commanding voice. It was that of Marlow, she dear friend.

Only moments before, Marlow burst into her chambers and was flanked by a very panicked looking Merlin and Arthur. Gwen had no time to be confused at the turn of events as she writhed in pain. The two men had carefully lifted her from her position at the head of the bed and moved her to the edge. It was here that her feet were propped up onto two chairs and her back supported by Merlin.

"That's it, Gwen. Easy now. I want you to lean into Merlin. He's going to support you and give you some of his strength." Marlow looked directly at Merlin when she said this, her eyes flashed gold for only a second. Instantly, Merlin understood. With Gwen's next pain, Merlin whispered an incantation under his breath to ease the pain and transfer some of his strength.

"Arthur – I need warm water and clean cloth. And lots of it."

The Prince opened his mouth to protest the order (he was the Crowned Prince after all). But he quickly closed his mouth and retreated out of the room after noticing the agonizing look on Gwen's face.

"Gwaine!" Marlow called, "I need your assistance!"

Marlow could hear the quiet chuckle of the knights that were stationed just outside of the door. Gwaine swallowed and slowly entered the room. He was met by the sight of Gwen's womanhood. Though he had seen many of its kind throughout his life, he had never seen the mound in such a state. The knight suddenly went pale and felt faint. He could hear Marlow mutter something about men being spineless as he rushed to his sister's side.

The eldest Velourian had pulled a sheet to cover Gwen in a moment of modesty. She felt for Gwen. Marlow knew the cyclical nature of the pains and how draining they were. She could easily recall the feeling of hopelessness that consumed all women at this point in labour. Marlow had tried so desperately to forget. But it would seem that Marlow was to be haunted by the phantoms of her past life.

"Brother," Marlow whispered. Her voice was shaky and uncertain, "I need your strength." It was then that Gwaine noticed the blood running down his sister's forearms. He silently cursed _him_ as he quickly wrapped the fresh wounds in a clean strip of linen and focus all of his thoughts on Marlow. Gwaine had not done this since his sibling almost died of a fever in their youth. He shuttered at the memory.

"Gwen, you are almost done. On your next pain, I want you to push with all of your strength. Can you do that for me?"

The Lady Guinevere could feel a pain welling up inside her. She leaned heavily into Merlin. He squeezed her hands in reassurance. Then, with all of her strength, she pushed for the entire length of her pain.

"That's it! The feet have been delivered!" Gwen could hear the relief in Marlow's voice.

What happened next, defied all understanding of those in the room. Marlow urged Gwen to remain still as possible as she wrapped the now exposed legs and stomach of the baby in cloth to keep warm. With the head and arms still inside of Gwen, Marlow let go of the child for a brief moment and allowed it hang there. It was then that Marlow began slowly turning the baby so the arms were released, one after the other.

Lancelot was beginning to lose hope. There was a minute of silence coming from the birthing room that seemed to stretch for hours. The men around him had also grown silent. Leon had placed a comforting hand on his shoulder when he heard it. A cry emitted from behind the door. It was clear and distinct. Suddenly and without warning, Sir Lancelot was a father.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Night had fallen over Camelot. Despite her best efforts, Marlow could not stop her hands from shaking. Memories flooded her thoughts and the pain associated with them overwhelmed her senses. She was drained, both physically and mentally.

Marlow was happy for Gwen and Lancelot – they were such a handsome couple and they deserved every joy that the Gods to bring. But it was the overwhelming sense of happiness that forced her to flee Gwen's side once the after birth was successfully delivered. Marlow had rushed to the Citadel, hoping the isolation would ease the storm inside her mind. She couldn't remember how long she looked out over the city before she felt a familiar wave of calmness extend and wrap itself around her very being.

"I thought I'd find you here," a dislocated voice came from behind her. Marlow did not need to turn around to know it was Merlin. She made no reply but folded her hands together in attempt to hide the shaking.

Merlin continued in a gentle voice, "how did you know how to do that? I've never seen anything like it!" The sorcerer had moved to stand next to Marlow. Only their shoulders were touching.

"Every woman should know how to deliver children. Even if she can't have any," Marlow looked at Merlin and for the first time, he saw a deep sadness within her eyes, "Besides, you did most of the work."

Marlow nudged Merlin with her shoulder and they both laughed at themselves. Suddenly, Merlin's face dropped and went deathly pale.

"How did you-?"

"It takes one to know one," Marlow reached and grasped Merlin's hand tenderly, "Don't worry, I will not tell if you won't"

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Gwaine could not stop his hands from shaking. He had quickly returned to his quarters after the birth and was pacing ever since. His thoughts were as sporadic as his steps. Try as he might to forget, painful memories re-emerged with every step. Gwaine fell further into his loathing for his sister. How could he make her do such a thing?

A knock on his door pulled him from his thoughts. He opened it, expecting it to be Percy or Arthur. Hell, he'd even prefer Satan himself than to who it actually was. Marlow said nothing but held a small keg of wine out of Gwaine.

"Truce?"

For the first time in over a decade, Marlow met Gwaines' gaze. He could feel their connection swell inside of him. Oh, how he had missed his sibling.

Gwaine opened the door to allow Marlow in and quickly closed the door behind them. As he turned, Marlow wrapped her arms around her baby brother. He quickly reciprocated the gesture for he was complete.

The twins eventually separated and poured each other a healthy dose of wine. Both drank greedily. Two goblets later, Gwaine broke the silence between them.

"What are you doing here? He wouldn't just let you free. You and I both know that."

"Brother," Marlow's tone was heavy as she set down her goblet, "It's time."

They both knew the gravity of that phrase. And what it meant.

"It's time I kill the _real_ Emrys. I do that, and I am free at last."


	8. Swelter

Chapter Seven: Swelter

Camelot was burning. The recent rise in temperature had left the people feeling as if there was fire coursing through their veins. They looked as if their skin was burning due to the obnoxious colour it turned after many hours labouring in the fields. Even the night brought no relief. Daily, Gaius and Merlin treated patients across the kingdom who were feeling the biggest effects of the heat, primarily the very young and the very old.

Even the knights of Camelot fell victim to the sweltering heat. Arthur, under strict orders from Gaius, had been forcing the knights to restrict training to the early hours of the morning before the sun was visible in the horizon and well into the night after the light had faded. During the daylight hours, the knights helped the people in relieving the illnesses brought on by the heat. Marlow was excluded from this duty as many of the villagers feared her and wouldn't let her touch their children. This was done out of the belief that she was a barbarian. She understood their motivations, she _did_ resemble a monster and she often felt like one as well.

Every move she made, she was carefully observed for it was the belief of Uther Pendragon that the eldest of House Velourian would soon return to her master and bring destruction to the kingdom. Despite her obvious loyalty to the Crown and to Arthur, she was still watched.

Marlow, of course, was well aware of this. She filled her days with extra training and working in the forgery. When the heat from the fires became unbearable, Marlow would make the short trek to a nearby lake. The spot was serene and offered a momentary lull from the noise of the city.

Upon her arrival, Marlow would shed her confining clothing and slip into the water. The waters were clear and refreshing. She could feel the ancient magic hidden deep within ground; it renewed her, made her whole once again. One such afternoon, Marlow returned to the banks of the lake to dry off in the heat of the fading sun, when she noticed a herd of men gallantly running towards the waters. It wasn't until they approached her (all stark naked) that she realized that the Knights of Camelot closely resembled small boys eagerly running away from their cross mothers rather than the bravest men in the land.

"Marlow!" A pair of strong arms had grabbed her from behind, "So this is where you've been hiding! We thought you had run away to join a league of midwives!" Marlow struggled to free herself from Percival's embrace. He had been much more receptive to her since Gwaine revealed his true ancestry to him.

Marlow was able to free herself and was quickly tackling the other men in retaliation, "And leave you fools to defend Camelot! Never!"

Laughing and feeling her spirit renewed, Marlow returned to her pile of abandoned clothing. The men (Arthur included) had gotten used to the sight of Marlow's naked form and no longer questioned the strange, black marking on her chest or the scars that seemed to appear out of nowhere. She was grateful for this. But as she began to ready herself for her return to town, she felt the eyes of her fellow knights on her. Before she knew it, she was pulled off the ground on swung over the shoulder of Gwaine like a common bag of grain.

"Struggling will do you no good!" The dismembered voice of her brother rang out. He was clearly amused at the current situation. Gwaine then threw his sister into the icy waters of the lake and a wrestling match between the two ensued.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

The morning sun had just settled into its position. The day's heat followed and the air was heavy. Training had just concluded for the day. Arthur had been relentless after rumors of a well-known assassin traveled across the city. The Prince feared for his father's life. The King was currently fighting off a bout of summer illness and was in no place to fight for his life. Frustration was mounting and Arthur unfortunately, took this out on his knights.

Marlow was traveling back to her rooms to prepare for her afternoon mending weapons when she felt was presence following her. It was not a knight, that she was certain of. The knight tensed and slowed her breathing in preparation for the imminent attack. Under the discretion of her loose training clothes, Marlow unsheathed her knife and held it close to her side. The last thing she wanted was her follower running off.

Turning a sharp corner, Marlow reached for the mysterious entity, catching them unawares. They were shoved against the castle wall and Marlow's knife pressed against their throat. They were wearing a rich cloak with the hood pulled over the eyes to mask their identity. Marlow had always hated hoods. More specifically, the secrets they hide.

The blade flirted with the virgin skin of the intruder. Marlow pressed her body against them, using her weight to immobilize them.

"Why are you following me?" Her voice was as sharp and as steady as her gaze.

"I thought it was you, but I had to be sure." The stranger reached up and pulled back the hood. In a moment of shock, Marlow's grip loosened. She was pinned against the wall before she could draw a breath.

"'Ello, 'ello, 'ello," Cedric Fletcher's breath stank of alcohol. He leaned closer to Marlow until they were sharing the same air. "What luck, I've caught me a Velourian… alive! What. A. Treat. And here I was thinking you were dead."

Marlow remained frozen, unable to move. Cedric's hand snaked around to the back of her head and into her short hair. Pulling her head to one side, Cedric attacked her bare flesh with a sloppy attempt of a kiss. She could feel his growing member against her thigh.

"My love, you have returned to me. It's time you and I get reacquainted."

"How noble of you," Marlow spat in Cedric's face, "and here I thought that you were a gentleman. Clearly, I've been mistaken."

"No more gentile then you, you whore." Cedric had shoved his hands down the front of Marlow's breeches and was vigorously pumping his fingers in and out of her. His breath was hot against her neck as he continued is assault. Marlow hadn't given up. Yet, she had lost control of what was happening to her body; it no longer worked as she remained frozen on the spot. A new heat began coursing through her body. It wasn't that of pleasure or the outstanding heat, it was a painful burning the coursed through her entire being. The world had gone silent to her, for all she could hear was a faint buzzing like a bee that dared to fly in her vicinity.

Then, it was over.

Cedric had been forcefully pulled off Marlow and was wrestled to the ground by Arthur. Merlin had rushed to her side and caught her as she fell down against the wall. Her body was too heavy for her. Marlow could feel Merlin's hollow body supporting her, holding her up. Arthur grabbed her cheeks and moved her head from side to side, inspecting for any wounds. His mouth was moving, but she could not tell what he was saying. The Prince looked greatly concerned during his inspection. He held her like a precious flower that could easily crumble under his touch.

Marlow's eyes fell closed for a brief moment as her hearing returned to her.

"Send him to the dungeons to await trial," Arthur was shouting at the guards that now held Cedric.

Before she could help it or understand why, Marlow found herself protesting, "No!"

Arthur looked back at his knight and made a silent note to have her checked over by Gaius. For she must have sustained a brain injury if she was calling for this man to be released.

"I said, release him," Her voice was low and empty, "Let him crawl back into whatever hole he emerged from and stew over the mercy I have shown him." Marlow was now supporting her weight as if nothing had happened.

Both Arthur and Merlin were in utter shock. With little choice, but to listen to Marlow, Cedric was released at the city gates and would not be seen from again for some time.


	9. The House of the Rising Sun

Chapter Eight: In The House of The Rising Sun

The heat of the summer had finally broken in the Kingdom of Camelot. Its citizens were visibly relieved. It would seem, however, that the excessive heat was replaced by a constant shower of rain. It had been raining for the past three nights and it looked as if the whole Lower Town would soon be washed away. The spirits had of Knights had yet to be damped as they were all pleased to be training in the heat no longer. They spent their nights in the Rising Sun Tavern, celebrating nothing in particular. Even Arthur had become partial to such celebrations as of late. On one night in particular, Merlin had finally given into his inner demon (and the peer pressure of the knights around him) and attempted to drink as much mead as the others. The result, as to be expected, was Merlin falling over drunk upon finishing the first tankard, while the others weren't even jolly yet.

He was sitting next to Arthur and couldn't help but lean into his warmth. Merlin wanted to use Arthur as a pillow and fall into a drunken haze while buried within him. It had been matter of weeks since Merlin had welcomed Arthur into himself that he _ached_ for it. Even drunk, his thoughts were consumed with images of Arthur lips trailing kisses down to his hard member. Arthur's favourite way of torturing Merlin as of late was worshipping every other aspect of his body. But not where he needed it most.

In his inebriated state, Merlin made a promise to himself that he would bed the Prince tonight.

Arthur, of course, was well aware of Merlin's drunken intensions as his hand (conveniently hidden by the circular table they all sat around) drew nearer to the apex of his thighs. Not that he was complaining about the teasing. Arthur joined in on the game and began to trace an invisible pattern into the tender skin at the base of Merlin's neck, knowing it was he weak spot.

The other knights knew of this relationship, just like they knew of the one between Gwaine and Percy, and Leon and Elyan. These such romantic dalliances made the knights stronger and created a bond between them that was unbreakable – well almost.

Sir Gwaine and Lady Marlow were at each other's throats for the third time that night. It would seem that all they did was bicker with each other like old crows.

"I speak the truth, _runt_ , I won. Fair is fair. There is no need to act like a child, when I clearly am able to surpass you in every way," Marlow said with a coy smile decorating her mouth as she took another swig of mead.

"And I, old toad, am saying that I let you win. Your ego is so frail, I'd hate to destroy your confidence in yourself," Gwaine responded with just as much sarcasm as Marlow. The other knights were laughing at the current exchange going on between the siblings – all but Arthur. He could never understand why these two were so close. Arthur believed they were courting each other, despite Gwaine's obvious affection for Percival.

"You know," Arthur introjected into the conversation, his voice calm and steady, "I'd be happy to give you two my blessing – just give me the word."

There was a deep pause. Both Marlow and Gwaine were flushed with surprise.

"YOUR BLESSING?!" All the knights broke into a ring of hysterical laughter, including Merlin, and Arthur was left feeling confused. Many of them spit out their drink onto the table. Sir Leon had mead running out of his nose from laughter.

"I'm sorry for laughing Little Prince," Marlow could barely breath between her words, "But I love Gwaine like a brother because that's what he is – my baby brother." Marlow made a grab for Gwaine's cheek, but he dodge the outward stretched hand easily.

Arthur was so utterly confused. Then – it clicked. He looked at both Gwaine and Marlow, who were sitting beside one another and finally understood.

"You, Your Highness, are oblivious." Gwaine chuckled.

Arthur turned to Merlin for some support, but found none. "You knew?" he looked to his knights, "How am I just learning about this now?!"

"Because you're oblivious," the twins said together, the laughter creeping up again in their voices.

Arthurs hand raked his hands through his hair, his mind numb with this development. Yet, all he could do was join in in the laughter, "This explains why Gwaine looks an uglier version of Marlow."

"Cheers," Gwaine took a deep swig of mead at that compliment. Marlow seemed pleased with the Prince's comparison.

"Explain one thing to me – why the pet names?" Arthur was still in a state of utter confusion.

"Gwaine here, was the runt of the litter and -" Marlow explained.

"Making Marlow, an old toad," Gwaine interrupted Marlow, she made a rude hand gesture in return.

"And my adorably small baby brother, a runt," Marlow teased Gwaine in return and patted his head like a well behaved child.

"Not so small anymore," Percy added quietly from other end of the table. The group erupted in laughter as another round of drinks was passed around. Merlin had finally given into his drunkenness and had slumped against Arthurs shoulder in a peaceful, alcohol induced sleep.


End file.
